The Masked Barber
by ViciousVigilante
Summary: There was a barber and his mask... and his knives... and his prisoner... and I am a total failure at summaries, so it is better to read what is inside. Rated T for violence.


**Disclaimer: I own neither Sweeney Todd nor V for Vendetta, as well as my own imagination: it keeps putting out things like the one you can see below against my own will.**

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The man in the chair in the middle of the room was trembling with despair. He tried to move his body, but to no avail: his limbs were well strapped to the arms and legs of the antique seat with strong ropes. All he could do was gaze in fear at the masked figure in the corner of the dimly lit room. A terrifying grinding sound reached his ears: his captor was apparently sharpening knives.

The grind was mystically interwoven with some calm tune which the masked man was humming to himself. The prisoner could not distinguish the words, except the ones that were repeated over and over: "my friends".

At last the man in black finished his work and lay the last knife back on the vanity table. He gave the blades a look, expressionless yet shivering, and then turned back to his captive.

- Welcome to my shop, Your Honor – the masked man exclaimed in a terrifyingly cheerful tone. - I suppose you fancy a close shave?

The prisoner, however horrified he were, still could do nothing but watch the tall figure walk slowly to the sink. He almost didn't hear the sound of running water, and when the masked stranger approached him with a soaped shaving brush, he screwed up his eyes and prayed silently for this nightmare to end. Alas, the soap he could feel strewn across his cheeks was too real to believe this was no more than a bad dream.

- I'm terribly sorry to confess that my skill in this trade leaves much to be desired. - the silky voice now showed ostentatious regret. The man shivered from head to toe as the freezing cold blade touched his skin for the first time. - I am certainly of no match to the great maestro, Mr. Barker – I suppose you do recognize that name?

The captive froze in his seat. He did recognize it, no matter how much he wished he did not.

- If only you could see the whole irony. - the man in black continued, slowly proceeding with his work. He stopped to dab a small cut – the captive almost didn't feel it – with a piece of cotton wool wet with alcohol and after that proceeded both with shaving and talking. - The inability of your ministry of economy to supply the populace with such basic items as razor blades brought the barber profession back into existence. And it was when you paid a visit to Mr. Barker's shop when you first lay your eye on his beautiful spouse. Was it so, Your Honor?

The "customer" could only give a mere nod. His mind was sinking in a sea of terror, and the "barber"'s words came to him as if from a long, long distance.

- No, I dare to dissuade you, it's not at all what you think. The victim of your "justice" - the last word was spit out with overwhelming sarcasm – is long dead. But I happened to be one of those whom he had told his story before his death in one of the Larkhill experiments. I, on the contrary, survived.

The shaving process was drawing to an end, and along with it – the man's hope. He could almost clearly see what would come next – and the masked man's words confirmed his worst expectations.

- You know, Your Honor, this man was aware that an amazingly similar story had happened to his ancestor. As well as you would, if only your chief hadn't blacklisted one of the most amazing works of art of the beginning of the century. I'm quite sure you don't know what I'm talking about. - the "barber" paused to pay a seemingly critical eye to his work before making the last strokes. - I'm talking about the story of a desperate man, a maniac, a vigilante, a villain – a hero. A hero you'd never ever be compared to. And you shall not, because the poor barber once told me his dream – to give you, Your Honor, the closest shave in your life. And it is my solemn duty to heed his dying words.

The man saw his captor raise his blade in the air. He almost shrank at the horrible smiling gaze of the mask.

- Please, don't do it, please... - the man in black slowly shook his head.

- We never learn from our ancestors' mistakes, Mr. Turpin.

The gloved hand came down in a forceful swing. Tiny drops of blood covered the white porcelain of the mask.

***

V was bustling about in the kitchen, wearing his usual pink apron and humming some unfamiliar melody. He had just finished with his so-called "guest". Evey tried desperately not to think about it.

- What's this song? - she asked, mostly to distract her thoughts.

- It's from a very remarkable movie. I promise we shall watch it sometime – V replied, still absorbed in his cooking.

- Oh, well... And what are we having for dinner?

V stopped his work for a moment and looked vacantly at the stove. Evey could swear he smiled beneath the mask.

- Meat pies. The best meat pies in London.


End file.
